


Psychomachia; Contest of the Soul

by never_wanted_to_dance



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: As fluffy as it gets with a cannibal anyway, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Seven Deadly Sins, Seven Heavenly Virtues, Someone Help Will Graham, in places anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25791505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/never_wanted_to_dance/pseuds/never_wanted_to_dance
Summary: A fragmented collection of virtuous and sinful moments in the harshly entwined lives of Hannibal and Will. When the catechism of our lives becomes so twisted, who are we to judge the actions of our fellow man? When the doctrine of your life follows a path which leads directly to the devil, where is left to step without falling?
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. industria

**Author's Note:**

> Two years without uploading she comes back with a… whole new fandom? 
> 
> Yep, ya girl finally watched Hannibal and promptly fell in love. It was just pretentious and beautiful enough to drag me back, kicking and screaming, into my own pretentious writing habits. And ooh boy, does this fic take the cake. Chapter titles in Latin (translations in the footnotes), associated songs with each chapter, title stolen from a poem written in 410AD – don’t say you weren’t warned in advance. 
> 
> This is an evolving work which I intend to have around 14 chapters, one for each sin/virtue. It will be mostly canon-compliant, although parts may take place beyond the Season 3 finale, and it will be mostly chronological, although it may jump around a little in places. Do enjoy and let me know your feedback as you read.

Industria

_and if I was stronger then I would up and go,_

_but here I am_

_and here we go again_

‘Can we clear the room?’

Will could still hear Jack’s voice, softened against the shuffling of plastic-covered boots against damp carpet, a quiet sense of authority evident despite the muted command. Behind him, the room slowly emptied, leaving behind only remnants of the crime scene investigators and clumsy local officers, rubber gloves and discarded plastic wrappers. He could smell the sharp edge of cheap coffee against the hot, heavy scent of blood from the scene ahead of him.

Closing his eyes, his vision swam, blocking out the scattered viscera and remnants of human dotted around the bedroom. The screams, which he’d braced himself for, didn’t come, prompting him to open one eye cautiously. The thing on the floor which had once been Miss Sharon Carmichael beckoned him closer, open and raw. Shapes shifted telescopically, fitting into place one by one, a crude jigsaw of inhumanity to paint a picture of horror beyond his initial imaginings. Will took a deep, shuddering breath, nostrils filled with sweat and iron as he allowed the familiar feeling to wash over him, consuming his every breath.

It seemed an age before the door behind him creaked open just a tiny crack, shaking him violently from the lull of the room. He turned, pasting on a neutral expression and dabbing unsubtly at the beaded wetness on his brow. Jack opened the door more widely, a single eyebrow raised in silent question.

“She was alive when he skinned her, but he took her tongue first. I’m sure Jimmy will confirm as such. He wanted – no, he needed to see her alive and moving without her costume.’

“Her costume?” Jack pressed, nodding at a uniformed officer behind him to start allowing the various suited and booted plastic people back into the shoddy room.

“He knew her as a prostitute, she used to pander to his needs. I’d bet he’s hired her twice, maybe three times before, he’s not new to this. He felt she was insincere though, her smiles were only skin deep.”

“So he cut her smile off” Jack nodded thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of his slightly-less-cheap smelling coffee. “But why this whole tableau? He must have been nervous of getting caught, the motel desk said he’d only paid for the room by the hour, and he stayed almost until the time was up.”

“He hasn’t skinned a human before, but he’s definitely skinned other animals.” Will shuddered slightly, turning away from the hunks of red flesh at last. “He had the right tools for this, you’re looking for a keen hunter, maybe even an amateur taxidermist. He knew exactly how long it’d take. He could have been neater, but he didn’t think she deserved to enjoy the scope of his entire talent, insincere as she was.”

Jack nodded again to the uniformed officer, who was now openly staring at Will as he talked. He dropped his gaze, the man’s clear interest and dark curiosity sinking into his pores like a summer monsoon.

“Thanks Will, that helps. I’ll let these guys get on with evidence gathering, but we’ll put an APB out for any suspicious activity from local hunters and taxidermists in the meantime. Might get lucky and catch him out on his way back to wherever he keeps his trophies.”

With that, he pulled out his phone and began tapping away furiously. Will felt his attention shifting away from the gruesome party tricks and onto more pressing matters. The room began to fill once more with quiet chatter and obnoxious camera flashes. He slunk out of the door more or less unnoticed, pulling his jacket around him against the chill Virginia wind. The shaking in his chest didn’t especially ease off though, making his very throat tremble as he began the trek back to Quantico on foot. It was only a few blocks thankfully, the sleazy motel quickly falling into the distance behind him as he stomped down the sidewalk. The silence of the sanguinated room still felt pressing on the back of his brain, interrupted only by the wet, sodden noises of sharpened hunting knife between skin and muscle, echoing deafeningly against the white stucco ceiling.

Will stopped abruptly, suddenly overcome with fear and discomfort as the clouded skies spun and danced above. He grasped wildly at a streetlamp to his right, breathing heavily as the feelings passed. Several moments passed, blood echoing in his ears as his heaving chest slowed down. He glanced at his watch – 2.34pm. He had no more classes this afternoon, and his car was in the front parking lot for once, having been parked before 7am that morning. He could get in and out of the lot without anyone really taking much notice, and be in Maryland in under 90 minutes before the afternoon traffic picked up. His mind was already made up by the time he reached the outer edge of the campus, a near subconscious plan forming as he crossed the threshold.

***

“Will. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow?”

Hannibal’s voice belied nothing but polite greeting, despite his questioning words, as Will began to shrug off his thin jacket and stepped up to the door.

“Are you busy? I was hoping I could move our appointment to this afternoon instead.”

Hannibal smiled cordially, stepping aside to allow Will space to slide in. “No more clients scheduled for today, you’re in luck. Please, by all means.”

The high-ceilinged room, as always, showed no evidence that anyone else ever had sat in the neatly plumped armchairs. A few books were scattered across the low table in the centre of the room, one with a bronze bookmark placed neatly next to the beginning. Will flipped it over as he sat down heavily onto one of the chairs.

“Allegory of the Cave? You’re a philosopher now?” he asked as Hannibal slunk down into the opposite chair.

“One does not need to be a philosopher to appreciate Plato, Will.” He smiled slightly, leaning forward and straightening up the books in front of him. His suit was a dark blue today, with exquisite tiny pinstripes dotting through it in a slightly darker shade. Will was pretty sure it cost more than his car. “It is surely of interest to a person such as yourself to understand the subjectivity of reality and how it can be applied to your fellow man.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t much of a Plato fan in college, what can I say.” Will muttered, slightly sullenly.

“Why did you wish to bring our meeting forwards this week, Will?” Hannibal asked in return, cutting through his bullshit succinctly as per usual. “Has your own reality been causing you difficulty lately?”

Will felt himself release a breath that he hasn’t realised he was holding. “We’ve had 3 different murders this week already, from 3 different perpetrators. None of them serial as of yet, but it is still somewhat… overwhelming.”

“Jack has asked to you to attend at each murder scene?”

“Well, two of them. He mentioned today’s this morning and I just-“

“You thought you could help.” Hannibal finished smoothly, staring straight over at Will with a difficult expression in his eyes. “Do you feel better for having volunteered? Do you think it was worth it?”

Will glared openly now. “I’m here, aren’t I? Does that suggest that I’m feeling better to you?” he fidgeted, crossing his legs then uncrossing them. “I know Jack wants me in the field more often. I’m no use to him in a classroom, scaring the recruits with slides of limbs in the woods.”

“This isn’t about Jack, Will.” Hannibal chided gently, steering him back to the topic he was trying to sidestep. “This is about your own insecurity and desperate need to be useful. Your own reality only makes sense to you when you step into the shadows of the killers you hunt. You don’t dare to climb out from the cave and seek a higher purpose.”

“I dare to climb out, I just don’t see the purpose in it. I am _useful_ at crime scenes. I save lives.”

Hannibal nodded. “Of course you are, and of course you do. But you must think of your own psyche as well, Will. How can you thrive in yourself if you give everything you are over to Jack’s design for you so often?”

The ticking of the clock behind them filled the silence, neither comfortable not awkward. Will settled back against the high-backed chair – also almost definitely costing more than any item of furniture he had, or will ever own – and looked over at the psychiatrist with his small smile in the growing dimness of the room.

“You tell me, Dr Lecter. What is so wonderful about being freed from the cave when the cave is all you know?” 


	2. Invidia

Invidia 

_Hide inside, call your doting dogs_

_As their weak servility feeds_

_Your emptiness_

The shadows of the trees were longer than he remembered.

Will snapped his eyes fully open with a force that almost hurt, hand wet from the insistent nudging of the dog at his left side. They sat, shaded by overhanging branches from the ever-growing twilight around them, one of his hands still grasping the fishing rod tightly.

Buster stared up at him with a concerned expression, head resting on the rock they were both perched on. By the low light around them, Will was sure it must be almost evening by now. Last he remembered, they’d set out along the trail at 10am, fishing box in one hand and cool box in the other, Buster trotting along beside him as they navigated the familiar path from the back of the property into the woods and towards the river.

 _Fuck_. He took in the scene around him, hardly daring to turn his head beyond the scattered branches. The fishing box was still unopened, and the cooler nowhere to be seen, which was understandable as their rock-perch was nowhere near the river. His shoes were, however, uncomfortably damp he noticed with a wince. As he tentatively stretched out one leg, the cracking of joints and screaming of calf muscle told him fairly clearly that he hadn’t moved much in at least a few hours. Buster seemed to take this as permission to get up, stretching and sitting more comfortably from where he’d been sprawled in front of his master in protection. They stood together, Will much more shakily than he’d like to publicly admit to, to creep back into the darkness of the trail away from the haunted clearing.

The growing darkness as they walked confirmed his theory with a smugness known only by the woods in Fall, as Will’s mind tucked itself away from the discomfort and alienation that came from not knowing one’s own actions. Even Buster seemed subdued still, barely flinching as a rogue squirrel darted across their way just as they reached the edge of the property. Will could imagine the sentiments he’d be sharing with the rest of the dogs later on – _yep, it’s finally happened guys, he’s gone and lost it once and for all. No hope left at all for this one._

It was still cloyingly hot despite the glowing evening sky, and Will’s shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his upper back as he stepped and stumbled past the snuffling pack of dogs who half blocked his way into the property. He peeled it off, feeling the cheap cotton mix pulling at the light hairs on his shoulders uncomfortably, and collapsed onto the sofa with a shallow exhale. His hands, he realised, were still shaking rather violently. Or maybe they’d just begun to shake. Who knew, anymore.

This was the third significant time this month, he realised with a jolt, that time was missing for him. It had started small – the odd moment here and there of drifting away during meetings with Jack, that one embarrassing sleepwalking incident - and then waking up on the sofa four hours after starting dinner, a cremated hunk of charcoal under the grill where his frozen pizza used to be. Shivering beneath a freezing waterfall of cold shower water, the hot water tank long, long emptied and his fingers more wrinkled than the medjool dates Hannibal had served them with partridge at his last dinner party. And now this, wandering around the woods for god knows how long, losing his best cooler, probably terrifying the life out of poor Buster – and god forbid, any hikers who’d passed by. It made his skin crawl to even think about it – his body, out there without his permission, blocking his rational mind the access that he’d previously taken so easily for granted.

Winston jumped up onto the sofa next to him, curling in close to his shuddering bare chest as he all but stifled a sob at the thought. What must it be like to be normal, he mused, petting Winston’s shaggy head and drawing him closer as the rest of the pack looked on in concern. To be the sort of person who was in control of not only their conscious actions, but to be able to walk into a room and charm everyone there. To not have to worry about freaking out all of your colleagues, to just easily anticipate acceptance and respect wherever you go.

 _Hannibal_. With his 3-piece suits and his stupid mansion and his ridiculous accent that drew in every fool who happened to pass by him in a crowded room. Will tried to draw up an image of Hannibal in his place, confused and afraid and vacant in the woods, and felt his imagination more or less laugh at the attempt. Hannibal gave the constant impression of a man who had never been dishevelled or afraid in his stupid life, and regardless of whether that was the truth, he maintained the demeanour perfectly. Will hated it – and _longed_ for it. Longed for a life where fear wasn’t a constant, permanent presence in the back of his mind, where the ghosts of the killers he stepped into didn’t dive into his dreams every night and disturb his thoughts in daylight, where he could walk into a room and not have everyone glaring at him within ten minutes of conversation.

Winston let out a sigh and dropped his heavy head into Will’s lap. It was fully dark outside now, and his stomach was beginning to protest, but he couldn’t bring himself to move just yet. Better to just let the darkness envelop the room, casting horned and cloven shadows across the peeling wallpaper. With his hands tangled into Winston’s fur, Will Graham allowed himself finally to close his eyes again, and take what felt like his first deep breath in hours. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Invidia - Envy 
> 
> Song lyrics are from 'Rewind' by AFI - listen here https://open.spotify.com/track/06fPxg3oOPbOUaZVVhghfd?si=BUQZS_bkRFG7YD0DtZ2krQ 
> 
> (somebody needs to help Will Graham)


	3. Temperantia

_Je me lance vers la gloire, okay,_

_We are vain and we are blind_

_I hate people when they're not polite._

Hannibal had always prized himself on his strong sense of self-control and discipline.

Back in the days of medical school, whilst all of the other young surgeons were chasing after women and wasting their evenings in gritty wine bars, pissing away their youth in dark alleyways and throwing away their keen reflexes into the nearest whiskey bottle, he was quiet. Studious, yes, but disciplined – busy becoming the youngest surgeon general to ever be appointed in the Provence-Alpes-Côte-d'Azur region, whilst working evenings in the local parfumerie and spending nights chasing down evil shadows of the past. The heady scents of the fields at Molinard would mix with the sharp, acrid clouds drifting down from the tanning factories up on the hills as he crept the streets like a panther in the dusk, running circles around the petty fleas of humans who scampered around the cobbled roads.

A life such as his was not easily acquired, and far less easily maintained, and thus, required a strong sense of surety and confidence in ones abilities to maintain composure. It was rather queer, therefore, to find himself in this current situation. Namely, to be struck almost dumb by the ridiculous sight unfolding ahead of him, rooted to the spot by a force he had not felt in his bones for a very, very long time. The sight of Will Graham, damp and sweaty from a morning run, looking like a young Patroclus in the blinding morning sun pouring in through cheap, thin curtains.

Will Graham stood up straight ahead of him, letting out a heavy sigh as he shrugged out of the stained, aged sports jacket which had formerly been tucked closely around his shoulders.

“It’s not that you’re not welcome,” Will continued, shucking off a loosely-tied sneaker as he spoke, “I just can’t help but compare my sense of housekeeping to yours. I’m afraid I don’t have any expensive wine or cheese to offer you.” He kicked off the other shoe and stooped to ruffle the head of a nearby dog. His hair was wet, covered in shining droplets from the morning dew outside. He smelled like salt.

“If you are not aware of how little that pomp and circumstance matters to me Will, then I’m afraid I have not been as good a host as I thought, in the past.” Hannibal managed, hearing his voice speak with a steadiness that he did not feel. Will snorted, shaking his hair out softly like he was one of his own scruffy pack of mongrels.

“Alright, if you say so.” He padded past Hannibal into the small kitchen at the far end of the humble house. “I can offer coffee?”

“Please.” Hannibal sat, sinking into one of the over-stuffed armchairs. “I am needed at Quantico today, and thought it would be nice to call on you, and see for myself where you live when you are not out in the field.”

“I spend more time in that creek out back than I do in this house,” Will answered, setting down a mug on the coffee table and taking the opposite armchair. “Probably only come back here for the dogs.”

The coffee was burned. Hannibal permitted himself a glance directly into his eyes, taking in the quiet embarrassment and uncertainty painted within them. “You do not need to be ashamed of your home, Will. I find it charming.” He said, taking a sip. “It reminds me a lot of a cottage I once lived in as a younger man.”

“Oh yeah?” Will’s eyes lit up at that, his interest evident. “Bet that wasn’t in the middle of some random field in Wolf Trap though.”

Hannibal chuckled, shaking his head. “Indeed, it was not. Slightly sunnier climes, although not without its own drawbacks. Steeper hills to reach it, for one.”

Will grinned, gulping down his own coffee - which seemed to have more sugar than advisable for most humans in it. “Yeah, I can imagine you in a villa in Europe somewhere, wearing linen and speaking a language I don’t understand. It’d suit you.”

“And so it did, for a time.” Hannibal smiled easily, putting down the mug. He’d taken three sips and could stand the assault of it no longer. “But there is an end of season for all things, including my days cavorting the continent and getting into mischief. I no longer suit a life of leisure and _hédonisme_.”

Will made a quiet noise of thought, drinking more deeply from his own vile concoction. “Why are you really here, Hannibal?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hannibal started a little, smiling slightly in response. Always so unpredictable. “Is it so difficult to believe that I wish to see a friend for breakfast?”

“Not difficult to believe, but out of character. I’m not so vain to believe I understand your whole character, Dr Lecter, but I do wish to believe that I know a little of your habits and preferences at this point in our friendship.”

“Well then. I am more transparent than I think.” Hannibal gave a nod, acknowledging the questioning tone. “I wished to seek your opinion on something – a rather trivial matter, really, but one which I would truly value your expertise on.”

It was less surprising to witness the poorly-hidden shock which spread across Will’s face at that. Ridiculous, that a man so highly accomplished in his -admittedly obscure- field of work would doubt that others would require his opinion from time to time. Still it seemed, he would flinch less at the commands of Jack to throw his mind into the depths of another monster than he would at the request of a friend.

“I recently purchased a boat, with the thought to perhaps take it out occasionally on Loch Raven. However, upon collecting it at the harbour, it appears to be slightly… less perfect than described in the advertisement.” Hannibal smiled, thinking back to the stocky, brash young man who had looked him in the eye and swore blind that the motor was less than 3 years old and in wonderful condition. His pancreas had made a delightful Ris d'agneau braises, accompanied by a lovely and delicate ravigote sauce – next time, the capers would need longer pickling though. The tartness was not quite as it should have been. “I was hoping you could perhaps take a look at it for me. I would of course compensate you for your time and labour.”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to.” Will genuinely smiled at that, the light in his eyes overwhelming the suspicion and doubt which had clouded them previously. “I haven’t taken apart a boat engine in years, it’d be my pleasure.”

Hannibal smiled back, gently nodding as he rose gracefully from the seat. The blush on the other man’s face had cooled somewhat from the redness it had had when he first entered, although the sheen of sweat on his brow remained. “Excellent. I shall take us out to the harbour whenever is next convenient for you to visit.” He patted the woollen coat laid over his left arm and took a step towards the door. “If suitable for you, I’ll go and wait in the car – we can drive along to Quantico together this morning.”

As Will nodded clumsily, Hannibal strode out of the lounge, breathing in the cool morning air deeply as it hit the back of his throat. A more awkward effort than he’d planned – Will was unnerving in his ability to see through his intentions, as ever. It would be his downfall – that, or the damp curls on his brow in the glowing autumnal morning. Tanned skin, pink and stubbled in darkened rooms, knuckled white against a hard chair arm – it was consistently overwhelming, and frankly, distracting. Every time he thought he’d figured it out, Hannibal felt himself still slipping. Even now, slipping, standing on a disgustingly chipped front porch, smelling of dog hair and fishing bait, waiting for this abysmal figure of a man to exit his house and join him for a horribly domestic car journey.

It was, in a word, exhilarating. And entirely, thoroughly undisciplined of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ris d'agneau braises is actually a really lovely dish, if made correctly - it is the only time i've ever enjoyed sweetbreads to date! It's typically made with calf or veal pancreas. There's a lot of use of organs in traditional European cooking, i'm a bit squeamish about most of it really, but I can be swayed by things that really, really taste good haha. 
> 
> In my head, Hannibal began medical school in France before moving to the US to take a more prestigious job at John Hopkins. Specifically, the Provence-Alpes-Côte-d'Azur region is known as France's 'perfume' region, especially the town of Grasse, where traditionally perfume has been made for many hundreds of years. I've never been, but I'd very much like to visit someday. 
> 
> Song lyrics for this chapter come from the incredibly catchy 'Psycho Killer' by Talking Heads - listen here: https://open.spotify.com/track/54uM0xGRrbA6UxtUF4dOUx?si=phEgA3GHSwiLGlvKiT2-4g


	4. Superbia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look who’s digging their own grave   
> That is what they all say   
> Standing on the cliff face  
> Highest foe you'll ever grace  
> It scares me half to death

The walls crawled with dank, dark figures, swarming wildly up and down the shadowed corners as Will stared, eyes half-focused in the slowly growing daylight. The quiet tick of the clock in the corner filled his senses, overwhelming his thoughts and filling the empty, rattling space between his ears. The blood on his hands shone darkly in the glow, just a tiny hint of red beginning to show through the blackness.

It had been an hour since consciousness had flooded back to him, finding Will laid out flat on the porch, hands drenched in a blood that didn’t seem to belong to him. 45 minutes since he’d half crawled, half stumbled through the door to the living room and flung himself into one of the moth-eaten armchairs by the window, a tattered crochet blanket pulled close around his shoulders. 30 minutes since he’d given up on trying to do anything more than just sit, staring hopelessly at the room ahead of himself in the sickly pale light of pre-dawn.

Last thing he could remember, he’d been tossing and turning in bed, sweating despite the freezing chill in the air. The hideous red glow of the bedside clock had informed him it was pressing close to midnight, so he’d decided to get up and search out some coffee, or Ritalin, or _something_. That was the last thought he could place clearly before the chilly dew setting on his skin had shocked him awake.

It might be strange, Will wondered, that he wasn’t even particularly concerned about where the blood had come from. As a general huge and disconcerting questions, it fitted in quite nicely alongside the tangled threads of all the other insane holes in his brain lately.

A buzz came from his elbow suddenly, running through his skin and straight into his nerves. He glanced sideways, taking in the phone charging on the side table next to the armchair. From the vague glow on the screen, he could just about make out Jack’s name. _Right on time_. He watched his hand reach over with a neutral expression, like watching a crab scuttle across a quiet bay at dawn.

“Jack?”

“Will. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

Will held back the urge to laugh hysterically. _Probably wouldn’t help_. “No, of course not. What’s wrong?”

“You’re needed in again today. I’ve cancelled your classes until next week, we’ve got another flaying.”

“I’ll be there by 9. You can drive me to the scene.”

Will tapped the phone and cut off the call before Jack could get in another word. He’d be paying for that later, most likely, with another lecture about rudeness and respecting your superiors. He stared at the blood print smeared across the dull screen, obscuring the blurry numbers of the clock face on the screen. _Wait, blurry? Should they be blurry?_

***

Hannibal’s eyes were burning into the back of his head, and it was giving him a worse headache than before, which Will hadn’t even realised was possible. He sighed, neck bristling like a grumpy cat.

“Are you just here to poke around at things, or are you actually doing something” Will muttered, slamming down the scalpel he’d absent-mindedly picked up onto the nearest metal surface. He turned, to see Hannibal half-smirking in exactly the irritating way he’d expected.

“I’m sorry if you’re irritated by my presence today Will, but I am here on Jack’s invitation as always.” Hannibal replied, smoothing down an errant thread from his tie with one hand. “Despite what you might think, I do not just wander into Quantico for the sheer pleasure of staring at rogue piles of flesh on these hideous tables.”

“No, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of expensive butchers with much nicer tables for that.” Will replied in a somewhat snarkier tone than expected. He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just – I didn’t sleep so well.”

Hannibal just stared in response, eyebrows quirked in a silent question. “Nothing much, just – sleepwalking, again.” Will continued, willing himself to stop talking with every further sound. “I would have told you tomorrow but, well, you’re here and-”

“Will Graham, as much as I hate to break up… whatever this is, do you think we could possibly have a look at this torso?” Jimmy piped up, poking his head around a curtain. Will rolled his eyes and stalked away from the empty table beside him in favour of a much grislier one. Hannibal followed without a word, soft leather shoes squeaking gently on the linoleum as they crowded around the slab. Jack turned from the hushed conversation he’d been having on the phone and glared his way into the circle.

“Well, fingerprinting was a bust. The clean print we picked up on the door handle wasn’t a match for anything, but forensics think they might have snagged a blood sample from the doormat. Only thing is, it’s kind of hard to distinguish because of, well” he gestured vaguely at the stripped-down muscles that lay between them all. “Bit of a mess.”

From the corner of his eye, Will noticed Hannibal nodding studiously and felt another flame of annoyance flare up in his stomach. “Has anything come of the taxidermy shop leads?”

“Nothing yet, although we do have a promising guy to visit yet in Bowie, there’s a few local guys heading out there today to question him. He’s an air force veteran, complete recluse, handy with a knife. Neighbours say they haven't spoken to him in months.”

“Mmm. I don’t know, I don't think he’ll be military. Not tidy enough.”

“I agree.” Hannibal replied quietly, drawing several turned heads, including Will himself. “Although a good portion of serial and mass killers are ex-military personnel, they tend towards the more fastidious and organized style of killing. This” he gestured with an elegant sweep of a hand, lingering over a particularly ragged edge of bicep, “this is untidy.”

Will smiled despite himself, and despite the scowl quickly spreading on Jack’s face.

“Well, I don’t know who he was, but he’s definitely skinned a good few rabbits before he’s gotten to this point.” Jimmy broke the awkward silence that was growing, plucking off a blue glove and glancing between the tense figures. “Perhaps more. I’ve not seen many taxidermists who can cut so delicately as this. We might even be looking for a chef.”

“A chef? A fucking chef?” Jack fumed, grabbing his phone again as it began beeping in earnest. “Look Jimmy, if you want to go trawling through every specialist meat restaurant in Virginia then be my guest. Let me know how that works out for you.”

“I’ll get Zeller on it right away!” Jimmy yelled at his boss’s back as it disappeared down the corridor, shaking his head. “Has anyone slept recently? Can’t say anything these days without having your head bitten off, I swear.”

Hannibal chuckled, stepping neatly away from the table and turning to Will. “Well, since we appear to be done here, would you like to come and take a look at that boat engine today? I would be very happy to drive you there.”

“Why not.” Will muttered, pulling off his own gloves and shoving them straight in his pockets. He wasn’t quite sure all of the dried blood was out from under his nails yet. “Where did you say you’re keeping it?”

“I didn’t” he replied simply, walking towards the door with a sense of purpose Will could only dream of. “Coming?”

 _You already know I am, you smug bastard_. Will glared a goodbye at Jimmy, who was already clattering around with a gurney and paying them no attention whatsoever.

“Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Superbia' - Pride. Because Will would rather chew off his own leg than ask another human being for help, as usual. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6MCPXko3sQo&ab_channel=Bastille-Topic - Lyrics from 'Icarus' by Bastille.

**Author's Note:**

> Industria = Diligence / Hard Work 
> 
> Song lyrics = 'Sort Of' by Ingrid Michaelson. Listen here: https://open.spotify.com/track/3HSsiqFfH2Qp1LYaaTzpj0?si=3160P8emT32rDeBg42y9Fg


End file.
